


Peace Is For Those That Stay Dead

by Midnight12reader



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Companionable Snark, Epic Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Star Trek: Into Darkness, Protective Bones, Protective Spock, Romance, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-18 04:47:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnight12reader/pseuds/Midnight12reader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Post 'Into Darkness' piece. Jim thought that death was more peaceful than this, but peace apparently only comes to those that have the good sense to stay dead. </p><p>Surviving loss, second chances, and another death defying adventure are the cornerstones of what makes Jim's second lease on life just as memorable as the the first. For if you can't have peace, make war.</p><p>CURRENTLY UNDER HEAVY CONSTRUCTION</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:
> 
> 1\. Standard disclaimer: I own nothing, merely play with, borrow, and try not to break anything in the process.
> 
> 2\. While I am a fan of Star Trek, I am not overly familiar with the canon behind it. I, therefore, apologize for any outrageous or blatant inconsistencies.
> 
> 3\. I'm super new at basically all of this so please take the time to provide feedback if you have the time and inclination. <3

# Peace Is For Those That Stay Dead

### Awakening

_"Let's name him Jim."_

_"I dare you to do better."_

_"…demoted and sent back to Starfleet Academy."_

_"If anyone deserves a second chance, it's James T. Kirk."_

Jim woke to a dull throb behind his eyes, and to a hypo to the neck. Bones, he thought, with a weak smile. I can always count on you to kick me when I'm down. Never the less, the sensation was a familiar one, familiar and safe. He relaxed back into the bed, and thought about just drifting off on the wave of exhaustion that still seemed to dog at him.

"I thought that would get your attention." Well, so much for that idea, although the voice was a welcome one. He cracked open an eye, only to clamp it shut as the light from the overheads seemed to spear into the back of his brain, increasing the throbbing that seemed to be growing by the minute. 

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty. I'm a doctor, not a babysitter. Get your arse up. It's time you woke up and start dealing with this mess you've got us all in...again. Damn it, Jim." Bones snarked as he prepared another hypo. But Jim could see, as he vision slowly came into focus, the black eyes he was sporting in a too pale face, a face that was doing a poor job of masking the relief and happiness he must be feeling. The old softy. 

He hissed as the hypo's contents were released into his blood stream, and sank into the bed as the throbbing turned into a pleasant state of numbness. 

"Don't get used to it." Bones snapped, affectionately, as he absentmindedly straightened and smoothed the sheets back into place over the still form. "The good drugs are for those who don't give their best friends heart attacks. I'm getting grey hair, damn it!" Bones grumbled as he rubbed a hand ruefully over his head. 

"Relax, Bones." Jim said, just to hear the older man snort in affront. 

Jim watched idly as Bones busied about, checking monitors and updating his charts, probably for the millionth time. The affection he felt settling like a ball of warmth in his chest. "I thought you said you weren't a babysitter, Bones." he quipped with a half-smile. 

"Ha, bloody ha, Jim. What… did you die and suddenly wake up a comedian?" Bones picked up the banter with barely a pause. Only someone who knew him as well as Jim did would notice the effort it cost him not to deal with his latest brush with death so casually. The guilt Jim felt at the almost imperceptible hitch of breath, the uncharacteristic wrongness to the exchange, was brushed aside with the reminder that it was better to have a pissed and hurt Bones, than no Bones at all. He would do it all again if he had the chance.

"Let me know if you suddenly start to feel homicidal, alright? Or any more of a general egomaniac than usual." Bones jokingly demanded. Yet he couldn't hide the edge to his voice that told Jim that he was more than half serious. 

"We had to give you that bastard's blood." Bones admitted. "Lord knows what type of additional crap he had swimming around in it, or what side effects it may have...but you didn't give me a lot of options, so..." Bones shrugged stiffly, before abruptly clearing his throat. "Just…tell me if you suddenly start feeling superior to everyone around you and like you're God's gift to the human race, understand?" Bones quirked his lips into a rough approximation of a smirk, eyes pained.

"Anymore than usual, right Bones?" jibbed Jim, attempting to lighten the mood, as Bones reached out and picked up a pen light.

"Look here." Bones ordered gruffly as he gently gripped Jim's chin and turned his head to get a good look at his eyes. He clicked the light on and just like that, Jim was back in the bowels of the ship, working desperately to save the family that he didn't even know that he needed. Contemplating the inevitability of dying slowly, painfully, and just as he had always known he would…alone. 

He jerked his head away from the harsh blue light, slapping out and batting the object out of Bones fingers where it fell to the floor with a clink of metal on tile. "Jim." Bones demanded his attention, before coaxing, "Jim, you're in Medical." His voice gentled, "Everything is fine. Just calm down, now. You're safe, the Enterprise is fine. Jim. Jim, look at me, damn it." He finally reached out to touch Jim lightly on the shoulder. "I'm fine, Bones." Jim assured jerkily, as he lightly brushed the older man's hand, and concern away. At Bones' continued scrutiny, he snapped, "You just have to stop trying to blind me. Let a man wake up after sudden death in peace, or is that too much to ask for?!" And with that he turned mulishly onto his side and closed his eyes, drawing the thin blanket up and over his shoulder like a child, hoping the other man might catch a hint and give him a break for once. Not that that had ever worked on Bones, but…a man could dream.

"Yeah, fine. I can see that." Bones drawled sarcastically, as he stared at the side of Jim's averted face. He reached down with a scowl and grabbed the pen light, checking it for damage before habit had him tucking it back into a lab coat pocket. He took a deep breath. "You were out for two weeks, Jim; we almost lost you. We had to do three transfusions just to clear your blood of the radiation, and you are still recovering. And lest you forget, you died! Anyone else would be a goddamn basket case, but no, Jim Kirk is fine. Just. Fine." Bones spat out the last words, his feelings clear on the subject. Jim's only response was to flop back over onto his back and glare ineffectively at the ceiling. It had been a nice dream...while it lasted.

Bones' pointed stare soon flicked over to the far corner, "Well, you have a visitor. Talk to him, won't you?!" Neither Jim nor his companion knew who exactly was supposed to be talking to whom, but they could guess. "I'm tired of the damn hobgoblin lurking around. Some of us have work to do." Bones blustered, reaching over and picking up a pad. 

Ah, well I guess that answered that, Jim thought wryly. Bones seemed to have reached his limit for the day, and with a exasperated snort, Bones marched through the door and abruptly out of sight. The room slowly settled into stillness, the energy left in Bones wake slowly dissipating. Jim sighed. Looked like it was up to him to get the ball rolling. The emotionally constipated Vulcan obviously wasn't going to do it. 

"How's my ship, Spock?" Jim asked softly, almost tentatively. A safe, although painful, start, he mused. 

"The Enterprise is currently in space dock, Captain, and has been there for the past 15.7 days." Spock paused, for once seeming unsure how to proceed. "Repairs are currently underway, but the damage was… extensive." He shifted almost imperceptibly. 

"Commander Scott is overseeing the repair efforts personally. He rather emphatically refused to allow another to touch, as he put it, 'his beautiful lady and her wounded nacelles' in your absence." Spock stated, the small hint of a smile crossing his face. Jim was sure the display was more for his own sake than an unconscious gesture, but he appreciated the effort from the man all the same.

"And the crew? How many did we lose, Spock?" Spock visibly hesitated. 

"The doctor asked me to avoid discussing such matters until you had made further steps in you recovery, Captain. He appeared quite insistent." Spock then glanced at the door, as if the doctor would swoop in at that very moment. 

"Tell me, Spock." Jim demanded roughly. He turned his head to face Spock head on, locking their gazes. "I'm fine. Tell me." , he insisted.

Spock's body posture shifted as he clearly made up his mind, and he finally began his report. Spock's clasped hands went to the small of his back, and he spoke solemnly, "Upon your demise," Spock's voice suddenly cut out, only to resume with, "Khan's ship was unable to retain it's place in Earth's orbit. He directed the ship's descent to intercept with Starfleet's Headquarters to maximize damage to Starfleet. While the ship caused a significant amount of damage, Starfleet remains relatively intact although not without loses." Spock's eyes glinted for a moment, before he turned slightly, dropping the Captain's gaze. "Lt. Uhura and I were able to retrieve him, and Doctor McCoy was able to use his blood with it's regenerative properties to revive you. Lt. Sulu was able to successfully maneuver the ship into space dock, where, as I said, repairs are currently under way headed by Commander Scott himself." Spock paused, giving the human Captain time to process before continuing. 

"Due to the loss of hull integrity, and the disruptions caused by the failing of the gravitational sensors, casualties were inevitable, Captain. However, evacuation efforts were effective in preventing mass casualties. In addition to your efforts, loses were therefore less than previously expected." Spock reported.

"Damn it, Spock! How many?!" Jim snapped impatiently.

"Roughly 24.6 percent, sir." Spock finally admitted. Jim slowly turned his head away to stare vacantly out the large window. It was too much; it was just all too much and too many, too many gone that should still have been there. Would have, if not for him. As if hearing his thoughts, Spock quickly reported, "Without your actions, I calculate that we would have lost another 15.1 percent, Captain, not to mention the additional casualties that would have occurred if the Enterprise had not been able to achieve flight and retreat to a stable orbit." A long pause infused the room. The silence that descended was at the same time companionable yet stifling as it seemed to drag on.

"Thank you, Mr. Spock" The rough voice brought a barely noticeable frown to the Vulcan's usually smooth features. It was with a bleak expression that Jim turned to once again face his First Officer. "Now, what can you tell me about the mess we're all apparently in now?" 


	2. Doctor Knows Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock really should have known better. You don't get much past the good doctor on a good day, much less when James T. Kirk is involved.

#  Peace Is For Those That Stay Dead

### Doctor Knows Best

_Spock POV_

The question seemed to reverberate through out the small space. As silence once again settled heavily over the room like a shroud, Spock turned and walked stiffly to the window, still stiff from his encounter with the _him_. 

Retreat was not in his nature, at least not such an outwardly obvious one. A step that he would never have made in different company, and that in itself was troubling. The gestures purpose was inherently without logical seeing as there was none to be found in attempting to delay the inevitable. It would in fact no way halt the conversation that he could see stretching out before them. 

Jim was a bad influence on his control. He looked toward the bed. But the man did have his redeeming qualities. He turned back to the window, reluctant still to proceed.

His gaze turned inward as he stared unseeingly out at the grounds below. 

He merely breathed calmly, deliberately, and attempted to find the words that needed to be said. A problem he had not faced since infancy. And once again he had to wonder, if letting himself feel as much as he did to retain the human based relationships around him was logical...or merely a weakness.

He wished that this moment could have been filled with talk of friendship and the lessons that he had learned, about himself, about them, as he had watched his first and only friend die behind a sheet of glass. That he could share the revelations he had discovered, and not have them overshadowed by this and all that came with it. He couldn't help but think in this moment that perhaps his father had been correct after all; caring was not an advantage. 

The time would come, he knew, when he would have to re-evaluate his choices, his evolution, but as it was he would not let such blatant misunderstandings remain between the Captain and himself. However, now was not the time, that time would come but only after they had dealt with the consequences of their last costly adventure. And costly it would no doubt be, of that he had no doubt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~END~P.O.V.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jim almost wished that he had the energy to be proud of the fact that he could now so accurately read his usually stoic First Officer's features. _His_ First Officer, he couldn't help but think, with a smug grin. Remembering being told that he and Spock would be reassigned without the other, that he was being transferred to a position under another Captain, made Jim burn with remembered jealousy and anger

As much as he had been angry at the Vulcan, and his penchant for following the damn rules to the letter; they were a team, him and Spock. They complimented each other, and they understood one another in a way that he hadn't know was possible with someone other than Bones. They were, ARE, one of the best damn command teams in the fleet. Hopefully, he thought, command would remember that after all this. 

He gazed quietly at Spock's figure, outlined by the sun shinning through the window. He eyed the tense shoulders and the rigid set of his jaw, observing how they marred his usual mask of polite indifference. A mask that he had grudgingly come to rely on, to count on. He looked at Spock's averted face, and was alarmed at what he found. He could see the lines that appeared etched into his friend's face, and the flush of green on too sharp cheekbones that on any one else would have Bones sniffing after them like a bloodhound. 

It appeared that Spock was almost as close to being as completely exhausted as Bones. He had just been more adept at hiding it.

"What is it, Spock?" he demanded quietly, eyes locked on the still figure. "Talk to me." He urged him gently.

Spock acquiesced, turning and placing his back towards the sun, casting his features into shadow. He almost reluctantly returned to his former position beside the Captain's bed. He opened his mouth to speak, "Captain…Jim" he began.

Before Spock could continue, the sound of a distinctive pair of footsteps striding down the hall and rapidly approaching their room was heard. Spock paused, turning his head towards the doorway in time to see Bones' entrance. 

"Say goodnight to the hobgoblin, Jim." Bones ordered as he made his way briskly towards the bed. He directed a sneer toward the Vulcan figure that had retreated to a position closer to the doorway at his presence. Jim snorted at the performance of the two. He wondered if and when the Vulcan would realize that Bones' bark was worse than his bite. Mostly.

"I'm sure he's satisfied your curiosity enough for one day, Jim." he stated firmly. Spock returned the sneer with his characteristic blank expression. Spock's expression was dripping with false protestations of innocence. Jim wasn't overly surprised that he wasn't the only one who had gotten good at reading the Vulcan crew member. He could see that the doctor was far from fooled. Busted, Jim couldn't stifle his smirk fast enough. Bones snorted derisively. "You'll have to better than that, you overgrown computer." He massaged the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. "Lord help me, visiting hours are over." he said decisively. 

With one last pointed glare at Spock, daring him to comment, Bones turned and pulled out another pre-filled hypo from the med drawer before softly closing and relocking it, thankful he had had the foresight to prep it earlier. The small wash of resignation and panic that appeared on Jim's face was almost gratifying to see, Bones mused, as he pushed it against Jim's neck, releasing the contents into his blood steam.

"Now come on, Bones! I need to…" was as far as Jim got before he heard the hiss of the hypo and felt the brief sting to his neck. "No fair, Bones-s." he slurred as he slipped into the deep sleep he had been so valiantly fighting.

The last thing he saw was Bones face, staring at the monitor over his head, as he set aside the injector with a slight click. He felt Bones' hand slide across the bed sheet to grip and encircle his wrist, serving as an anchor as he spiraled down once again into unconsciousness. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bones stared at the Captain's face for a moment, his fingers reflexively pressing and releasing, continuing to check and recheck the pulse. His thumb rubbing against the smooth skin where it rested against his slumbering friend's wrist. His hand slowly slipped to his side as he once again turned from the bed to face Spock, demanding roughly, "What were you thinking, man?!" in hushed, and angry tones.

Spock could only watch as the doctor's face began to turn a truly troubling shade of red. "Doctor, if I may..."

"You may NOT." Bones sharply interrupted, "He just woke up from a highly experimental procedure, one that has never even been attempted before. A procedure, by the way, that we still don't know how he is going to respond to, there could be dozens of possible side effects that we can't yet predict." Bones lectured, his voice getting progressively louder.

"He doesn't need a goddamn damage report or to get his face shoved into the fact that he lost a quarter of the crew just minutes after waking up from being dead! You really are nothing more than a goddamned computer, aren't you?!" Bones finished, fists shaking in rage at his sides. 

Spock only stared at the doctor impassively. He glanced once again at Jim's still form, his face softening minutely. He did not notice the doctor quietly observing him, or the fact that his uncharacteristic display of human emotion in front of the good doctor had had a rather calming effect on the man's temper. He gazed at the Captain a moment longer. He attempted to fix a picture of Jim as he was now, as he laid breathing and sleeping peacefully in the narrow bed, in his mind. He could only hope that such an image would help replace the memory of their last parting. Suddenly became aware of the doctor's increasing scrutiny, he pivoted and with an economy of motion that one would expect from a Vulcan, attempted to do the logical thing under the circumstances...retreat. 

"Where are you going?" he heard the doctor ask gruffly, before he could exit the doorway.

He turned slowly, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at the doctor's question. He was surprised at the exhaustion that he could now keenly observe on the doctor's face. It seemed that without the Captain's regard, Doctor McCoy no longer had the ability or perhaps the will to hide his present state behind his usual bluster.

"I believe I was accused of 'lurking', as you say. I merely wished to relieve you of my presence. I would not wish to offend your delicate human sensibilities." Spock stated.

"And lest you forget, you are not the only one with additional duties at this time, Doctor." he coldly added. He again turned to leave.

"Wait." The doctor made no effort to disguise the slight pleading quality of his tone or the exhaustion that weaved though his voice. Perhaps he had tired of the games as much as he. 

"With his metabolism, I wouldn't be surprised if comes back around again in another hour or two. The idiot doesn't have the God given sense to stay down for long." He stated with a fond smile aimed at said idiot's head. "He'll want you here when he does. God knows why. You might as well stick around. He might actually be smart for once and stay in bed if you're here to keep him occupied and out of trouble." He explained, a self-deprecating smile touching his lips.

"Well, as far away from trouble as James T. Kirk can stay." He amended with a rusty looking half-grin. "Lord knows, that's what the 'T' should stand for what with his penchant for breaking the rules and damning the consequences. Bastard's giving me grey hair before my time." He added with a fond, yet exasperated air, shifting to look more fully at the man in question, checking for signs of pain. He snuck a glance at Spock out of the corner of his eye. He watched as the previously tense shoulders seemed to relax back to their regular sense of rigidity, and those oh-so- human eyes warm again as the Vulcan registered the olive branch he had attempted to wrap up in the invitation.

He glanced away as Spock made his way to one of the visitor chairs placed in the corner. He seemed to struggle with himself, before finally giving in. As Spock made to sit, he spoke, the words almost getting caught in his throat, "He called for you, you know."

Spock froze, it happened so quickly that if he had blinked, he wouldn't have noticed the hitch in the Vulcan's usually graceful movements as he took his seat. It was that small moment of weakness that gave him the push he needed to continue. 

The words seemed to be pulled out almost against his will, and with a painful rasp he continued, "He regained consciousness during the start of the third round of transfusions. He was incoherent, barely stable. We had to put him under, so he wouldn't have the opportunity to pull out the tubing and leads… He kept yelling for you to save them. He kept mumbling that you knew what to do. He trusts you with them, the crew. He trusted you to save us. To do what you thought was right. That you would do what needed to be done." the harshly spoken words slowly trailed off into silence.

The words appeared to have no outward affect on Spock, but inside, the void that had appeared after Jim's death, became a little bit smaller and easier to bear.

"I thought he would want you to know." McCoy muttered into the silence. He cleared his throat to banish the hoarseness that had crept into his voice. The silence stretched on as the doctor finally directed his attention down to the tablet he had picked up to update Jim's chart with his new meds, glancing up frequently as if to assure himself that Jim hadn't moved as he switched to remotely monitoring his other patients. There they remained for some time as the sun continued to set and the light inside the room began to dim.

The silence remained unbroken until a hushed voice drifted across the room, "You can't let them know he's awake, Spock. He's not ready yet, I mean, the mental toll alone of coming back from the dead, let alone dying in the first place... they'll use it. They'll use it all against him. You know they will.", the doctor's softly spoken words were pitched only loud enough for a Vulcan to hear. They were infused with the smallest hint of desperation that begged to be contradicted.

The silence dragged on.

"I know." was the bleak response. Neither said it, but they both knew it was already too late. The wheels were already in motion.


	3. Sebastian Lestrange

# Peace Is For Those That Stay Dead

### Sebastian Lestrange

With nothing else to do but wait for Jim to come around again, Bones quickly finished updating his charts and tucked his tablet back one of the many pockets of his lab coat. He couldn't wait to get back to the ship, to be back in his own domain where he wasn't expected to double as a pack mule. And how surprising it was that that thought should even exist. And as for the reason for the change, well, it was lying right there in front of him. Sighing, he escaped from stifling atmosphere that had settled over the room at Spock's bleak reply. He should have known better really, what was he expecting? Spock to be reassuring? To tell him that everything was going to be okay in that stoic voice of his. He knew better, doesn't mean he has to like it. He briskly walked out into the corridor, waving absentmindedly towards the nurses duty station as he hears his name called out in greeting. He knew Spock was on Jim's side, this time at least, he thought spitefully. He had been ready to strangle him when he had heard what the Vulcan had done to Jim.

The look on Jim's face as he had stormed out to find the nearest bar brawl like he was still a damn cadet had had him fighting not to cold cock the green blooded bat. He would have to, if hitting him wouldn't have broken his goddamn hand. With how far Jim had come, it had been hard to watch the ground crumble around him, to watch him back track from all the progress he had made over the course of the last few years. The Vulcan didn't realize how much the crew, Jim's family, meant to the younger man, and how much losing them would destroy him. It was worrying how much of Jim's mental stability was wrapped up in the Enterprise and it's crew. The scowl on his face deepened as he began taking his climb up the large stairway tot he upper floors. 

Well, having Spock with them instead of against them for once might hopefully make this whole situation less of a disaster, he grudgingly admitted to himself. But he couldn't help but worry that the kid wasn't going to be able to come through this latest mess smelling like roses and sunflowers. Not like last time.

You only get to play the 'I saved the planet' card once, and they had already used it. He was too much of a realist (cough) cynic, to not realize that the Enterprise and Jim's Captaincy wouldn't have happened without that little motivation. They had used up all their acquired good will, and this latest disaster wasn't exactly a Hail Mary like the last. 

They didn't exactly save the planet this time, more like took a big ass chunk out of it, he thought as he glanced out at the clean up effort still underway though a passing window pane. And if that had been the extent of the damage, he mused, they might have been able to fix this with a good PR campaign and a handy cover story.

No one liked the idea of having to clean house, especially when that house was as complicated and as politically charged as Starfleet. At least the current power vacuum was working in their favor for the moment. The top brass were all too busy politicking to be worried about scapegoats just yet. If they were lucky it would stay that way. But he doubted it. Not even the kids luck could hold out that long.

And there was only so much he and Spock could do with Jim stuck in a bed and on the sure to be rocky road to recovery. Jim wasn't going to bounce back as quickly as he usually did. Bones was amazed that he had even woken up as early as he had. Anyone else would have been out for at least another week. Another possible goddamn side effect he had to add to the growing list. He was already starting to mentally tally up the number of tests and evaluations he was going to have to submit Jim to when he woke up next. He groaned. It was going to be like herding cats.

Jim was going to love it, he mused sarcastically to himself. The damn infant was going to make it twice as difficult as it had to be, he just knew it. That kid was often more trouble than he was worth, he thought with a fond grimace.

As he climbed the last flight of stairs, he couldn't help but rub his hand roughly over his face and skim his hand through his hair with a rough jerk. His own aches were starting to make themselves known. Nothing like riding in a giant tin can without a seatbelt to remind you that you were getting older. The lack of sleep was starting to catch up with him; he was starting to feel more than a little ragged around the edges. He tilted his head to the side, ignoring the dull snap, crackle, and pop that followed.

He was no spring chicken anymore, and the long hours were starting to take their toll. Lord, his head was pounding. He sighed as he started his trek down the long white washed hall. He might as well look in on the rest of his patients. It wasn't likely that he was going to feel comfortable enough to go home when Jim would soon be awake and causing his typical amount of trouble soon. 

He still had at least twelve crew members located on this floor to check in on. Thankfully, two of his patients had been discharged earlier in the day, to make room for more victims of the crash. But there were also a handful of still ailing crew members dispersed throughout the building, and he needed to check on them before Jim woke up again. The needy infant. 

He wasn't about to let some still wet behind the ears resident get their grimy hands all over his patients. Thankfully, those with more minor injuries had been sent home days ago. But Starfleet Medical was still short staffed, and being a senior staff member, he got the privilege of supervising the lot, and dealing with the heavy load of patients and additional responsibilities while he was on the ground and available. He paused in the corridor, deciding to stop by his office for a mug of decent coffee. It was going to be a long night.

When Starfleet had whored out the command crew of the Enterprise after the Nero Incident, the PR department had unleashed the press to garner as much free publicity as possible. After all, with the loss of so many Academy cadets and professors, Starfleet needed to jack knife their recruitment efforts. Young men and women had flooded through the doors of the Academy, drawn in by the heroism of the famous command crew and the prospect of adventure and a sense of patriotism. Starfleet was now, as a result, just starting to get back on an even keel.

The dorms had gone from being empty tombs stocked with memories of the dead to live epicenters bursting at the seams with idealism. Starfleet was already in the process of building additional housing to hold all of the incoming freshmen as the standing dorms at had already well exceeded their capacities. However, the flood of cadets did little to alleviate the strain on Starfleet Medical.

Few doctors and medical personnel were easily swayed to drop out of the more lucrative private sector to join on for a life filled with space, disease, and the possibility of abrupt and certain death. So as a result, although the classes and other departments were well on their way to recovery, Medical was still stretching itself thin until the next full class of cadets made it through medical training and were able to help with the backlog.

As he turned to step into his office, he cursed as he was blindsided by a couple of blank faced uniforms blocking his doorway.

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" he demanded as pushed past them into the small space, "This is an office, not a waiting area. Those happen to be just down the hall, you can't miss 'em. Big yellow signs all over the damn place.", he snarked. He hid his grimace as two more uniforms parted to reveal the tall, lean form situated behind his desk.

"Why, Doctor McCoy, you seem surprised to see me." The middle aged man offered in greeting as he slowly stood at the doctor's entrance. He wore a form fitting black uniform, suspicious for it's lack of ornamentation and insignia. His black boots made no noise as he smoothly rounded the desk, his hawk-like features giving his appearance a more sinister air.

"I would have thought to have heard from you sooner, what with our mutual friend's miraculous recovery." He coolly drawled. 

The shadows cast by the last rays of the setting sun, skittered through the window, caught on the sharp edges of the man's stark features and sculpted jaw, and flashed over his glasses, obscuring his eyes momentarily from view. Bones worked to hide his shudder of revulsion from the man, as blue eyes swept slowly up and down his form, scanning him from head to toe and coming to rest on the clenched fist at Bones' side with a slight smirk. 

"One would think you were trying to keep me out of the loop, doctor," he silkily continued," with how hard it has been to get an update from you or your people."

He watched as the doctor slowly fought to regain control, his fist unclenching to hang lightly at his side. With a quick, sharp motion of his hand, the uniforms quietly flowed out into the hallway and the office door was closed with a soft click behind them. 

The man's head pivoted to maintain his piercing stare, as the object of his scrutiny moved, as if to create as much space as possible between them. Bones skirted past the visitor's chairs, side stepping him to circle around behind the small desk. A hand flashed out and snagged the doctor's wrist as he past, the hand tightening reflexively as he attempted to reflexively jerk away from the grasp.

The man's eyes flashed briefly at the flash of irritation and the hint of fear that the doctor wasn't quite fast enough to hide. He pulled him slightly closer, drawing him in by his shackled wrist.

"What have you been up to, my little healer?" he purred softly into the doctor's ear. His hand slowly stroked the pulse point of his captive's wrist, luxuriating in the racing pulse at the question almost as much as the feel of the smooth skin beneath his fingertips. He merely watched as the doctor jerked away and moved to place the desk between them.

The skin of Bones' wrist tingled in revulsion, but he refused to give the man the satisfaction of reacting any further. He eyed the other man as he smoothly took a seat in front of the desk and slowly crossed his legs. He couldn't believe the damn nerve of the man. He watched as he sprawled in the chair, his steepled fingers coming to rest under a sharp chin. He steeled himself as the cold blue eyes finally peered at him over the upright tips of his fingers.

"I'm a doctor, not an answering service." Bones curtly replied. The man opened his mouth, "And even if I was, I wouldn't answer to you, Sebastian." He continued, fairly spitting out the man's name.

"Oh, but in this instance, good doctor, you do answer to me. No matter how galling you may find that fact." Sebastian smoothly replied, a small smirk briefly touching his lips.

"Lest you forget, I was put in charge of cleaning up Kirk's mess. And as such, I need to be kept fully informed." he ordered, his voice hardening, "Now, how is our young patient faring, Doctor?"

"He regained consciousness for a short while this afternoon." Bones stated through lightly clenched teeth, knowing that he must already have a leak in the department for Sebastian Lestrange to be here so quickly after Jim had woken up. And wasn't that just a goddamn wonderful thought. 

"However," he was quick to continue, voice flat, "he is in no shape to answer any questions. Visitors are restricted until we have fully evaluated his mental and psychical status." He leaned his hands against his desk, back rigid, as if to add emphasis and more authority to his words.

He paused a beat, "I'm afraid your interrogation will just have to wait, Mr. Lestrange." Bones stated firmly, his voice lacking any attempt at sincerity or apology.

Sebastian slid gracefully from his chair to stand. He leaned slightly over the desk, bending at the hip to bring his head alongside the doctors, as he lightly placed a hand on the desk for balance. Bones stared straight ahead, unmoved, as Sebastian once again worked to invade his personal space, not giving Marcus the satisfaction of backing away. Sebastian slightly tilted his head to run his eyes over the doctor's cheekbone and the curve of his neck. He inhaled slowly, liking the effect it had on the doctor.

"Two days, doctor, to show I can be merciful when it suits me." He finally murmured.

He abruptly leaned back, pushing off with a small flex of fingers against the desk, pivoting soundlessly he glided to the office door. Bones jerked to his feet, startled at the sudden motion. The light chuckle Sebastian released at the action grated against his already raw nerves. He could still see the uniforms in the hallway through the opaque partition, silently standing guard outside his door. 

Sebastian paused before opening the door to glance back over his shoulder, "Two days, doctor. ", he coldly reminded.

He moved his eyes over the doctor's form one last time. "I look forward to seeing you again so soon." And with those parting words, he slipped out the door, closing it with a quiet click behind him. Bones could only listen as the small group moved further and further down the corridor until they seemed to finally be gone.

He breathed out, resting his hands on the smooth surface of his desk until their faint trembling stilled. He sits, slowly pulling himself forward. His hands once again ran up and threw his hair and over his face, scrubbing vigorously. He tiredly leans forward to place his elbows on the desk with his hands firmly cradling his aching head.

His sigh is enough to move the few sheets of paper situated near the top right of his desk. As he exhales, his eyes automatically close. Just a moment, he thinks, just one moment of quiet, and then he'll make another set of rounds before checking on Jim.

 _Beep._ A hand slowly lowers and inches across to the console; he doesn't even glance at the screen as his fingers work solely on muscle memory to accept the incoming video com.

A small, brunette woman wearing blue nursing scrubs blinks into being and takes in the doctor's slumped form. She goes on to hesitantly report, "Doctor McCoy, James Kirk is awake." Her tone borders on apologetic.

She abruptly looks away from the screen. The lines on her face shift and tenses, as a small commotion can suddenly be heard in the background. Her tone acquires a sense of urgency as she continues, "And, Doctor? Do hurry." And with that the call abruptly blinks out. Before the screen could go completely dark, McCoy is out of his chair and out the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am revamping this story-editing, tweaking, what have you. So far, I have only gotten to this point. If you wish to read the following chapters, be aware that changes may be underway for them as well. The main one being that "Sebastian" was previously known as "Marcus", but the name change has not been put into effect in later chapters. I thank you for your patience in this process, and hope you enjoy the changes as much as the original script.


	4. The Unexpected Commotion

# Peace Is For Those That Stay Dead

###  An Unexpected Commotion

Bones rushed down the hallway and down the stairway, his lab coat flaring out behind him as his strides lengthened to their fullest extent without breaking into a panicked run. His mind was already racing light years ahead to the room at the end of the long corridor, filling up with worst case scenarios and running through the list of remaining medications he was able to give Jim's already overtaxed system. It was a very short list. 

Jim better not be having another adverse reaction, or he'd kill him himself. The blind panic at the very thought of Jim dying was quickly drowned out by the need to focus at the job at hand-keeping Jim alive…again. He'd had enough of seeing the kid's face turn blue, and having to call the code team. They were becoming a rather familiar, and all too unwelcome, sight. 

The buzz of activity at the end of the hallway grew louder and more agitated as he approached, only to drop to a hushed silence as medical personnel filed quietly out of the room, McCoy broke out into a run, fearing the worst. He pushed past the nurse who had had the privilege of calling him down to this mess, and two orderlies, only to come to a dead stop at the scene spread out before him.

The room was in complete and utter disarray. It looked almost as if a localized bomb had gone off. A nurse was picking up an upended stack of papers blanketing the floor. Hypos could be seen in a rustled stack in an opened drawer. The drawer below it was pulled out, as if someone had dug through the drawer, and went on to the next when they couldn't immediately find what they had needed.

Another hypo, still filled from the looks of it, appeared to be abandoned on the small table beside the bed. As the last extra body shuffled out, McCoy was finally able to spot Jim amidst the destruction.

With his last dose of medication, Jim should have still been quietly tucked into bed. Which was why Bones was puzzled and somewhat alarmed, to discover the bed's sheets spilling out onto the floor. His eyes snapped to the pillow discarded along the wall, only to quickly swing back to the empty bed.

His eyes traveled across the empty expanse of bed and down the tangled sheets, to the figure sprawled out on the floor. His eyes widened to see Jim on the floor, face pale and beaded with sweat. Jim's breathing was ragged enough that he could hear it over his own quiet huffs of breathe. Bones eyes snapped up to the figure standing over Jim's limp form.

" _What_ did you _DO_!?" his voice going from a strangled whisper to a loud roar, as he hurled himself at the looming figure.

Spock didn't have the chance to reply. Caught unawares, he offered no resistance as he was physically manhandled into the nearby wall by two white knuckled fists clenched in the bunched up fabric of his uniform. Only his quick reflexes saved him from smacking his head against the wall as he was forced back against it. Bones eyes locked with his, the blame and betrayal in them obvious, before they snapped back to Jim as he whimpered. 

Before Spock had time to adequately respond, McCoy had already shoved himself away from him and rushed to kneel at Jim's side. Needing the physical anchor and reassurance from his friend, he reached for Jim's neck and face with one hand as he reached for the medical tricorder in his lab coat pocket with another. At this point, he might never take the damn lab coat off again. He waved it quickly over Jim's still figure, his own forehead creasing in worry. His hand unconsciously, instinctively moved from Jim's neck to run once, twice through Jim's hair before leaving to activate the freed tricorder.

As he began to read through the gathered data, he snapped at the waiting Vulcan, "Get out. Get out before I _throw_ you out." His voice was cold, and his eyes, as he threw a glance the Vulcan's way, were as cold as ice.

Coolly professional, he motioned the orderlies inside. As the orderlies deftly lifted Jim's body back onto the bed under the doctor's watchful gaze, Spock quietly slipped past and into the corridor. Bones didn't see the oh-so human eyes uncharacteristically clouded with worry or the almost pleading glance he threw the doctor's way as he passed.

He was gone long before the doctor dared to leave Jim's side unattended again.


	5. Misconceptions

# Peace Is For Those That Stay Dead

### Misconceptions

Jim woke with a sense of déjà vu and a stream of oxygen being pumped into his nostrils. His head was still a throbbing mess, more so than the last time he woke up in medical.

"Why do I feel worse?" he complained, grimacing. "You losing your touch, Bones? I might have to start looking for a new CMO." He snarked, reaching up to pull the irritation away, only to have his hand lightly batted away and the oxygen tube adjusted by a deft hand.

"I thought I was supposed to be getting better, or is the universe just fucking me over again?" he asked without opening his eyes, a smirk dancing at the corner of his mouth, knowing that Bones would be there. He was always there.

"You just couldn't help being the prima donna that you are, Jim. Had to give the medical staff the full Jim Kirk experience." Bones snarked back, coming up and leaning alongside the bed. He cast a glance at the vitals displayed on the wall panel, before meeting Jim's eyes as they finally opened to take in the empty room.

"How's the chest?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Like a herd of elephants was dancing on it. God, Bones, what the hell did you do?" Jim demanded, lifting a hand to press against his sternum, massaging his chest.

"You tell me, Jim, what did the damn hobgoblin do to set you off?" And with that, Jim's body jerked as his eyes snapped back to Bones' face.

"Where is he? Where is Spock?" demanded Jim, his hand reaching out and snagging the front of Bones' lab coat, and dragging him closer to the bed. His eyes took on a slightly wild glint.

"I threw him out. What did you think, Jim, that I was going to let that damn Vulcan in here after what he did?" Bones asked, angry and exasperated with the situation.

"Why the hell would you do that, Bones?" Jim asked with a bewildered shake of his head.

His hand began to shake, still clutching at the front of the doctor's coat. Bones reached up and gently gripped the shaking wrist, softly bringing the hand down and back to Jim's side on the bed. The doctor let go after a brief squeeze, as if to anchor the hand in place and reassure himself that Jim was there and in one piece. The doctor gazed down at Jim with a furrowed brow, face radiating worry, only to be tinged by anger.

"Because I left him alone with you for ten goddamn minutes, Jim, only to find you out cold on the floor, and that damn Vulcan was right there in the thick of it. I knew I should have just kicked his ass out to begin with, damn it." The doctor angrily explained, his voice getting slightly louder, taking on a sharp edge as he finished.

"He's not going to hurt you again, Jim." Bones reassured with forceful conviction, "I'm not going to _let_ him." His mind flashing back to another time and place, Jim bent back over a console while the damn Vulcan choked him to death. And him just standing there, too shocked to move or even provide a goddamn token protest as his best friend was being murdered right before his very eyes. 

"He didn't hurt me, Bones." Jim told him tiredly, his voice edged in sadness and exhaustion. He turned his head slowly to look Bones square in the eye. "He saved me."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

4 Hours Earlier:

Jim jerked into consciousness with a choked back scream, his back arching up hard enough to slam his head back into the pillow. He strained, seemingly locked in place for a moment, before collapsing back on the bed, like a puppet whose strings had been abruptly cut. He gasped for breath, tossing and turning with increasing urgency.

He flailed around, lashing out at the sheets that seemed to be strangling him. They started twisting up around his legs and feet, causing him to jerkily pitch to the side. As he heaved himself toward the edge of the bed in a panic, he soon found himself rushing to meet the floor.

He was quickly snatched up by strong arms, and effortlessly placed gently on the bed. Their owner's face swam into view, lips moving. But Jim couldn't hear anything; all he could focus on was the hands holding him in place. In his mind they were as good as steel bars, constricting around his chest, pushing the air out. Making it hard, impossibly hard, to breath.

Jim's breathing began to seize, his body jerking as if suffocating on air. His hands grasped and clawed at his chest, only to reach up and push the hands on his arms away. Uncaring of the voice that he could now hear pleading his name, he strained against their hold. He knew this feeling, had felt it every time that his body had decided to work against him, had decided to once again not work. And every time it felt like dying…because it was. And regardless of popular opinion, he wasn't ready to die.

He didn't notice as Spock tore the covers from the bed, letting the twisted sheets flutter to the floor in a shimmery heap. Or as he began to call for medical assistance as his pleas to his Captain fell on deaf ears. He didn't see the medical staff streaming into the room, ordering Spock to lay him down, to try and calm him.

All he felt were the hands on him, hands that a distant part of him recognized, but that his mind was too panicked to interpret. He heaved himself against them, twisting and turning in attempts to break free, stronger than he should be, stronger than he had been before. Before dying…before Khan. The thought had the biobed trilling an alarm, as his adrenaline levels sky rocketed even higher, and his vitals continued to steadily decline.

Hand to hand scenarios came back to him in a hallucinogenic rush, past lessons and countless drills coming to the fore, as he began to truly fight his way free. Jim's movements became more focused, his training succeeding, allowing him to get a few hits in before his wrists were recaptured by a steely grip. The hands that trapped his seemed to burn his very skin. Jim began to shiver, his teeth lightly clicking together.

He was unaware of the pale face above him, as the pleas became more urgent, as the now green tinted lips almost begged for his cooperation, raining down reassurances upon deaf ears.

"Bones!?" He called desperately, hoarsely, chocking as his throat seemed to be closing in on the word.

He couldn't …Bones was here. He remembered him being here. He was always here. His thoughts became more and more frantic. 'Where was Bones!?' he thought desperately, mind trapped in a downwardly spiraling loop.

"Somebody get Doctor McCoy, NOW!" yelled an overwhelmed resident, as she frantically dug through a drawer. The orderlies ringed the spectacle, not willing to get between the determined Vulcan and the patient, not without being ordered, at least.

She didn't look to see one of the nurses leave, rushing into the hallway and to the staff terminal. She rapidly measured out a hypo dose, only to discard it after looking at the patient chart. She had never seen so many fucking allergies in a space bound officer. She quickly pulled out another drawer, and loaded a hypo with a dose that the patient could metabolize without coding and signing her death warrant via a pissed Dr. McCoy.

As she turned to administer the dose, the Captain's eyes suddenly seemed to snap into focus, zooming in on her and the advancing needle. Catching the Vulcan by surprise, he broke free with a burst of adrenaline, energy that definitely shouldn't have been there according to his listed stats. He snagged the pillow, hurling it at her, as he used his moment of relative freedom and the small distraction to throw himself out of bed and toward the door.

As she side stepped the soft missile, she watched as the Vulcan's face once again became still and resolute. He deftly turned, snatching the prepared hypo from her hands. She could only watch in amazement as he gracefully and swiftly pivoted only to jab the patient in the neck with the hypo with one hand and grasp him by the shoulder with another. The patient crumpled to the ground under the Vulcan's firm hand.

The activity in the room came to a jarring halt; as the Vulcan slowly lowered his hand, casually tossing the now empty hypo onto the side table with a small clink. The sound seemed to echo in the now silent room. A few of the staff began to exit, realizing that their presence was no longer warranted.

The Vulcan paused for a moment, staring at the prone man, face softening, before slowly beginning to stoop down. No doubt to get him back onto the bed and off the hard floor. However, before the Vulcan could touch the patient, Doctor McCoy rushed through the door. And with his entrance, the staff quickly emptied out into the corridor, but not without seeing the doctor's infamous temper come to the fore.

When the staff was relieved, and as shifts were changed, no one had yet to see the doctor emerge, and were as such unable to tell him what had truly transpired in his absence. To tell him that he hadn't been wrong to trust the Vulcan with his friend.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

As Spock left the Captain's room, he rounded the corner with military precision. As he made the turn that would take him farther away from his Captain, from Jim, his stride became more urgent and his face smoothed out to its more characteristic blankness. He refused to think of it as running away. It was only logical after all, to give the doctor a chance to collect himself.

He was a volatile man by nature, he had observed, over his time spent in the man's company, and especially so where Jim was concerned. It was illogical to be hurt, not that he himself felt such a thing, at the doctor's reaction.

He had hoped, however, that the doctor had softened toward him over the course of their tenure aboard the Enterprise. He had taken efforts to make the doctor more comfortable with his presence. He had thought that the doctor would have gotten over the past, just as Jim had, just as he had, with time. And he had steered clear of the doctor's territory outside of his purview as First Officer, refraining from forcing his presence upon the man.

He could not dismiss the possibility that he had miscalculated. That by avoiding the doctor, he had allowed past grievances to fester and remain unresolved. That by not confronting the man sooner, by not attempting to establish a more congenial relationship through shared bonding experiences outside of set mission parameters, he had failed.

He silently made his way out through the sliding doors. As the doors quietly sealed behind him, Spock paused to gaze at the setting sun, his eyes drawn inexorably to a single window opposite. His mind focused on the room's human occupants, and the activity of a moment ago.

He had never seen Jim act in such a way. He had come out of sleep like a man possessed, manic and afraid. It was as if Jim had been locked inside his own conscious, unable to distinguish between his dreamscape and reality. To see him so _vulnerable_ , had shaken the Vulcan more than he would ever admit. 

As he continued down the path, strolling slowly, hands clasped behind his back, and lost in thought, his head suddenly cocked to the side a barely perceptible degree. His back straightened, and his movements smoothed out until they seemed to flow together as he wound his way down the path and rounded the last turn only to come to a brief stop. He gracefully stepped up into a small gazebo, now deserted as families left to return home in the wake of the setting sun.

He gazed outwards, watching as the paths slowly cleared, and the last rays of sunlight began to dwindle and fade. As the last haze of day lingered, his head slowly turned to the side, his eyes unerringly turning to the grove of trees on his right, and to the still figure nestled among them.

They locked eyes for a long moment, before Spock deliberately turned away to once again gaze at the setting sun.

He finally demanded, face and voice devoid of all emotion, "To what do I owe your presence?" He waited, his body radiating indifference.

At the continued silence, he turned, asking coldly, "Why have you sought me out... _T'Pring_?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, your reviews and thoughts are welcomed and appreciated. <3


	6. Temper, Temper

# Peace Is For Those That Stay Dead

### Temper, Temper

An expectant air seemed to hang about the room as Jim finished recounting what little he could remember. It didn't take the doctor long to fill in the blanks. Spock wasn't the only one who could apply a little logic. The picture that was beginning to take shape was enough to have a small pang of guilt spearing through him.

"What were you thinking, Bones?!" Jim yelled, forehead furrowing in anger and no small amount of pain.

"That he just saved my life only to sneak in here and take it away? What is your issue, man?" Jim demanded, angrily, hurling the charged words out to hang heavily in the air between them. Jim's face had slowly begun to turn red, as his hand tangled in the once smooth sheets, fisting them in frustration.

He couldn't believe that the two of them were at it again. They were both being so _stupid_.

Bones couldn't seem to shake a grudge lately to spare his life, and Spock was well…Spock. It wasn't like he was going to make with the warm and fuzzies. It was like the two were purposely trying to get him to tear his damn hair out, fighting like two girls over the last pair of red pumps at a shoe sale, but without the eye candy to make it entertaining.

He was sick of it. And he was sick of being used as ammunition between them.

Old Man Spock had hinted at some big epic friendship between him and Spock, and the old man seemed to have enough of a soft spot for Bones, but Jim couldn't help but think that maybe that camaraderie just wasn't meant to be in this universe, variation, whatever this was. Maybe it was time to just give up and stop believing in fairy tales, he thought to himself harshly.

God, he was tired. Tired of the fighting. Tired of the politics. Tired of everything it meant and everything it took to be Starfleet's current golden boy, even a slightly tarnished one. The only thing that made it all worth it was his crew and his ship, and both seemed to be slipping out of his fingers, becoming further and further out of reach… yet again.

His knuckles turned white as he clenched the bed sheets tighter, as his teeth clenched together in an effort to hold back, to not fall apart.

"Jim." Bones called sharply, his voice sharp, commanding a response.

Jim's mind continued to spin. He just needed a minute, he thought, just a minute to push it all back, to push it down where it belonged. He was fine. He was fine.

"Jim!" Bones called more urgently. He watched with apprehension as the previously green stats on the wall monitor continued their descent, tinting red, and spiking his own heart rate. The damn kid was going to give him a heart attack, Bones thought fleetingly, his mind becoming tinted with worry.

"Jim! Damn it, man, just calm down before you give yourself a heart attack. I'm a doctor, not a miracle worker. There are only so many saves and medical interventions that I can pull out of my ass. Now calm down!" Bones snapped, lifting a hand and reaching up to manually monitor Jim's pulse.

"Calm!" Jim scoffed, snapping into focus. He batted Bones' hand harshly away from him.

"How am I supposed to be calm, huh, Bones?!" he retorted sarcastically, a note of hysteria creeping into his voice.

"What do I have to be calm about? My crew is broken, my ship is about ready for the scrap yard, something is going on…something, by the way, that you've all done a great job of keeping me in the dark on." he sneered, frustration and impotent rage flashing across his face, as he continued to vent at the older man.

Bones watched Jim, his face falling into a deeper set frown, and a wrinkle of worry creasing his forehead, as the words seemed to pour out of Jim's mouth like a tidal wave. He couldn't get Jim to articulate this much for his damn psych evals, he marveled exasperatedly.

At this point, he could only wait for Jim to finish, seeing as calming him down with anything short of a sedative seemed unlikely. Something he didn't want to have to resort to yet, he thought with a look at the monitor, and, well, while not good for his blood pressure, him or Jim's, he needed to know where Jim's head was. Not only as his friend, but as his doctor and CMO.

While Jim's situation and his recent trauma, he still couldn't make himself think of it as his 'death', more than warranted a tirade to make his grandmama proud…without further observation and testing the possible side effects of Khan's blood couldn't be discounted-physical or mental.

While he hated to do it, to put his best friend and his behavior under a microscope, he was too much of a doctor to ignore possible symptoms. Catching them might be the only way to keep Jim safe, to keep Jim _Jim_. And, damn it, he had invested too much in the kid to give up on him now.

"And my two best friends can't seem to get their head out of their asses!" Jim finally concluded venomously, before sagging back against the bed, the small amount of energy he had recovered during his forced nap abruptly deserting him.

His eyes clenched shut, shutting out the room and attempting to regain some sense of equilibrium. He couldn't seem to get the room to stop spinning. He began to breathe deeply through his nose, his loud breathing echoing in the quiet room. As Jim's breathing slowed, his hands slowly relaxed amungst the sheets, releasing their tight grip, his fingers flexing slightly to relieve the ache as feeling rushed back into them.

"Your crew is healing Jim, and the only way the Enterprise would be going to the scrap yard would be over Scotty's cold and bloody corpse." Bones stated crisply, warily watching Jim's stats slowly climbing their way back up out of the corner of his eye.

"And you'll be brought into the loop when I say you will." he continued harshly, his eyes locked onto Jim's tense features, his own screaming resolve.

"You're a mess, kid, and you aren't going to do anyone any good until you get yourself back into shape. We can hold it together until then. You may be the Captain, Jim, but that doesn't mean that some of us can't take a turn steering the ship." He stated bluntly, his voice matter of fact, daring Jim to contradict him.

His face softened slightly as he continued, "As for the hobgoblin and me, well, we might mix like hell fire and a damn bucket of ice water, but that don't mean we can't work together."

Bones paused, shuffling his feet slightly, before glancing out the window into the darkness. His hand crept up to rub once, twice at the back of his neck.

"I can admit that I screwed up, Jim." he admitted quietly,his face partially obscured by shadows, "but that's between Spock and me." He continued, once again turning to face the bed, his voice going firm. "We don't need you to hold our hands, Jim."

"You need to fix this, Bones." Jim said quietly, voice once again dripping with exhaustion.

Jim slowly opened his eyes, lolling his head around on the pillow until he was able to fix Bones in his sight once more. He stared at Bones intently for a moment, " _I_ need you to fix it.", he finally murmured softly.

They stared at each other, saying what needed to be said without a word needing to be spoken.

Jim's eyes closed on a soundless sigh of relief, as Bones' hand slowly lifted and came to rest gently on his forehead. The remaining tension slowly bled from his body as it relaxed even further into the bed, and as the warmth lingered, his mind grew hazy, as it was pulled further toward sleep. He knew Bones would make it better, he thought with a faint grin, as he quietly slipped under, he always did.

Bones watched quietly, his expression softening even more, as he watched Jim drift off. His thumb idly smoothed out a wrinkle of pain that appeared on Jim's forehead, before his hand smoothly passed over Jim's hair to reach out and deftly adjust the drip.

As Jim's face went completely slack in sleep, and his features lost their pinched appearance, Bones took a small step away from the bed before hooking the nearest visitor's chair with a foot and dragging it closer.

He plopped down, letting out a harsh exhale as he finally got a chance to rest for a minute. He sat in silence for a few moments, staring at the stat monitor. As the stats continued to hold, the light from the monitor cast a low glow throughout the room and across his face. He brought a shaky hand up and rubbed roughly at his face, feeling the stubble catch on his palm.

Before he could give into the urge to simply close his eyes and join Jim, he creakily stood and shuffled towards the door. He made his way quietly down the almost deserted hallway, nodding slightly in acknowledgment to the night nurses behind the duty station. It went without saying that he would be informed immediately of any changes regarding the Captain's condition.

As he slowly made his way towards his office to catch up on the no-doubt considerable pile of paperwork on his desk-which had no doubt grown in his absence, he thought with a scowl- he turned a corner and impulsively slipped out through a side door and out into the open air. The frigid air quickly wiped any thought of sleep from his mind and served to clear it of any lingering cobwebs.

He briskly rubbed his arms against the chill of the night, before he made his way further out onto the small deserted balcony. He leaned against the stone railing, enjoying the stillness of the night as he gazed up and out at the starless sky and deserted paths, enjoying the small moment of peace and quiet.

Lost in thought, he didn't hear the soft click of the side door opening and closing behind him. Quiet, but sure strides, closed the distance between the doctor and the silent figure.

A silky murmur, carried on the faint breeze between them, had the doctor suddenly freezing in place, mind going momentarily and completely blank.


	7. Intruder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long wait for this chapter. And for the fact that it is completely un-betaed. If you spot any issues please let me know. I got into a writing craze and actually wrote three chapters at once, only to have my laptop crash. Time I got back to it, most of chapters 2 and 3 of my work were gone or 'corrupted'. So, I now know the pain I have heard so many writers express here on . Needless to say, the re-writes have gotten even more angst-y, so it's taken me a while to even it out. But then again, can you really have too much angst?

# Peace Is For Those That Stay Dead

### Intruder

Jim woke to the click of the door closing. His body tensed under the sheets, before carefully relaxing, feigning sleep. During his stay, that door had never been anything other than fully open. It was like they didn't trust him alone by himself, or rather Bones didn't. Bones was just too paranoid to leave him unsupervised for long. Bones would have left orders. Orders that were much easier to follow with an open door.

He opened his eyes to thin slits, peeking out into the semi-darkness. His adrenaline spiked as he saw a short figure engaging the rather flimsy door lock and upping the privacy settings for his small med suite using the controls located next to the door. His eyes flickered as the small lights on the panel went from a reassuring green to an alarming shade of burnt orange.

From the individual's darkly clothed form, and rather militaristic movements, it wasn't hard to deduce that they weren't there to change the bedpan.

Wonderful, he snarked to himself. He had told Bones. He had told him that trouble found him, not the other way around. Bones was going to have to eat his words after this was all said and done, he mused with a mental snort.

He watched, body still, as the man-and it clearly was a man, it hadn't been too long since his pre-Starfleet career of bars and booze that he couldn't tell the difference across a dimly lit room. As the stocky figure moved, the light from the bank of wall monitors briefly illuminated his face, highlighting his features. Definitely not here for the bed pan. The nurses here weren't exactly hot, but they weren't as dog-faced as this guy.

God, that was one ugly man. The man's nose had clearly been broken one time to many. It protruded from the man's face at a funny angle, causing the light to shift in weird waves across his angular face, highlighting the rough scar that run down his face and across his lower jaw. Like he had cut himself shaving-with a machete.

Jim suppressed the momentary urge to giggle. Damn meds. Jim took a deep, silent breathe in through his nose. Focus, damn it, man, focus, he could almost hear Bones voice echoing in his head.

Jim had seen enough. Enough to at least make a decent stab at guessing that he was in trouble, or at least not in the good.

He knew the type- soldier boy, through and through. He'd say a good Ole, corn fed Iowa boy, but well-he didn't think 'good' and what was probably about to happen would go well together. Plus, well, he was living proof that the stereotype was full of shit.

He continued eyeing up the now moving figure, fighting away the desire to tense up and give the game away too soon. Probably follows orders, does his job, keeps his head down, and probably enjoys his work way more than he should, Jim concluded. It was like freaking Cupcakes' Evil Twin.

But the way he moved showed training, more advanced training than your average grunt too, and it was then, as the alarm going off inside his head grew even louder, that Jim knew he was in real trouble. Not the got drunk, passed out, woke up in jail without his pants in trouble, but the oh-shit Bones is going to kill me trouble. Speaking of, where the hell was Bones anyway?

After silently scouting the room, the man made his way quietly to the window. He leaned forward, gazing intently at something across the way. Jim watched as the light from the pathway lamps outside splashed across the small smirk that flashed across the man's face. It made Jim's hands clench under the thin sheets. His blood began to pound faintly in his ears.

The light from outside was slowly obscured and finally winked out as the man deftly drew the curtains shut across the long window, bringing him closer and alongside the bed. Jim remained still, blood continuing to pound, picking up tempo as he saw the weapons the man was sporting.

Jim's eyes slammed shut as the man turned toward him, his body subtly tensing-he hoped, and adrenaline pumping. It took effort to keep his breathing low and controlled as the man continued to stare at his prone form. Jim knew that he was no match against a soldier with a gun in his condition, although it pained him to admit it. Although, hey, he was maturing, accepting his limitations, and all that bullshit…Bones would be proud, Jim thought sarcastically.

He listened intently for any sign of movement, almost jumping as the man suddenly pivoted and walked back to his vantage point by the window. He slowly slitted his eyes open a fraction, watching as the man carefully parted the curtain from the window frame with two hooked fingers. Jim's internal sonar, honed from years of fuck ups, pinged as the man continued to stare out into the semi-dark.

A sense of foreboding took over when the faint light coming through the crease re-illuminated the man's face- showing the small smirk on the man's thin lips and the malicious, greedy glint in his eye. He fairly reeked of self satisfaction and sleaze.

Jim wished that the man was just a creepy perv getting his jollies by courtyard peeping, but he knew that even he didn't have that kind of luck. Plus, with what he was packing, Jim rather doubted the whole peeping Tom scenario.

As the silence grew, and the man remained fixed in place, eyes intent, Jim was thankful for the dark. He readied himself, as the sense of foreboding grew, and the hair on the back of his neck began to rise.

What was going on? Something was wrong, his blood was singing with it, his mind screaming an ever persistent warning at him. He wasn't seeing everything. The damn drugs were still in his system, messing with his head. Damn Bones. And it was with that one thought that everything seemed to click in pace and his adrenaline began to reach altogether new levels. One thought rang loud and clear over the thrumming in his ears- Where is Bones?

He wouldn't have left him completely alone. Not after last time. He knew how his doctor, his best friend, thought. How he had felt, how he _did_ feel. Mama bears had nothing on Bones after one of Jim's fuck ups, and this one had been a doozy. So where the hell was he? And why wasn't he here where he was supposed to be?

He worked hard not to give in to the rising sense of panic, of worry-not fully succeeding. And as that thought that had been at the back of his mind began to grow, creeping its way to the forefront of his mind until he felt consumed by a boiling purpose, one thing became clear-he had to move, he had to move NOW. And as his pulse began to race, his adrenaline levels sparking to dangerous levels, the wall monitor began to trill as the room was suddenly bathed in red light.

Jim flew into action. All matter of surprise was now gone. He just had to move. It felt like he was moving in slow motion as he rolled, the I.V. tearing out of the back of his hand, dotting the sheets with speckles of blood, and threw himself out of bed, using it as a springboard and hurled himself across the room. He was on the man in seconds.

The man had turned sharply at the sound of the alarm. The curtain falling shut as his hand jerked to one of his poorly concealed weapons. Even so, he was still unable to fully turn before Jim was upon him.

Upon reaching the man, Jim slammed his fist into the side of the man's head, catching him by surprise and sending him spiraling into the nearby wall. Jim caught his wrist, smashing it into the side of the window sill until the non-standard issue blaster fell to the floor with a dull thud. Before he could recover, Jim shoved him back into the wall with a hand locked at his throat.

The man's feet kicked out as Jim lifted him, almost effortlessly off the ground, dragging him up by the grip on his neck. As the man's free hand fisted and swung at him, trying to take a shot at Jim's exposed side, Jim quickly spun him by his captured wrist, slamming his face into the side of the widow, the sharp crack echoing in the silent room.

Dazed, the man's struggles weakened. Jim swiftly spun him around again, kneeing him in the stomach as the man sagged. Jim shoved him back into the wall, recapturing his grip on the man's neck and dragging him up the wall one-handed.

He leaned in close, watching with hot, burning eyes as the man began to gasp for air, as his lips slowly took on a blue tint. Jim bared his teeth, holding back the rather alarming instinct to snarl.

Jim watched the man struggle, finding it hard to feel anything but pure rage and a complete disinterest as to whether the man actually lived or died by his hand. As the man's feet slowed, Jim abruptly let go, letting the man's feet drop to the floor and catching him by the front of his shirt as the man sagged forward.

Jim roughly caught him with two fists clenched tightly in the front of the man's uniform, and slammed him back against the wall, pinning him in place.

Jim leaned in close, "What the hell are you doing in here?" he snarled into the man's now pale face, teeth clenched, specks of spit flying into the man's face.

"Talk to me!" Jim snarled.

He pulled the man forward slightly only to slam him back against the wall, his head smacking against the wall satisfactorily. The man remained disgustingly silent.

"Who do you work for?" Jim demanded sharply.

As the red glow coming from the monitors streaked across the man's face as it turned to the side, Jim saw the minute glance he threw at the now ruffled curtains, before he swung out again, attempting to escape.

Jim snarled, letting out a yell of frustration, as he unclenched a fist from the man's shirt, back handing him across the face and swinging it into the man's stomach, causing him to bend in pain and choke out a breath. Still, he remained stubbornly silent. 

Enraged, Jim caught him again, knuckles turning white as they fisted in the man's shirt.

Shoving him roughly back into the wall with a firm grip, once, twice... the crack of the man's head slamming into the wall seemed overly loud in the small room.

As the man went limp in his grasp, Jim picked him up slightly only to hurl him into the opposite wall. He fell into a heap on the floor, still. Jim gazed at him for a moment, watching for movement, before stalking to the window. He threw the curtains aside and peered out into the near darkness.

If he hadn't known where to look, he might not have seen the two figures standing on the balcony adjacent. At first, he couldn't seem to drag the image into focus. It was hard to see through the haze that seemed to be covering his vision. He pressed his hands flat against the glass, pushing until his hands began to ache, trying to make sense of what his eyes were picking up in the semi-darkness.

He watched, body tense, as the two figures stood close together. Too close…intimately close. As one of the men turned from his companion to look out over the pathways, Jim growled. He watched, teeth clenched, as one man ran a hand over the other. Mine, Jim snarled to himself, thoughts turning even darker with rage and possessiveness.

When the man behind the shorter figure reached up, locking a hand in the shorter man's hair, Jim's hand's spasmed against the glass. As the shorter figure was shoved into the balcony ledge, Jim snapped.

"Bones!" he yelled. _Mine!_

He slammed his hands against the glass, creating long think cracks across the surface, before using them to push off and propel himself towards the door.

He leaned down as he darted across the room, scooping up the weapon the man had dropped from the floor. Throwing his free hand out, he smashed the locking mechanism, sending out a flurry of small sparks from the small monitor. Determined, he swung around the door, absently noting the lack of personnel as he made his way swiftly down the hall.

…..to be continued. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my first action-ish scene ever. Hopefully, it was worth the long wait. (wink)


	8. On the Balcony: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long delay. R.L. just kind of went F.U.B.A.R. for a while. I'm hoping this chapter doesn't seem out of place as I've never tried to pick up a story again after being away from it for so long. Either way, enjoy.

### On the Balcony: Part 1

The whisper of shoes against stone had Bones freezing in place. He cursed himself for not only the reaction, but for letting his attention wane enough for him to be taken so by surprise. Jim would be appalled, he thought with a grim smile. He could only blame it on the lack of sleep that had been the norm as of a late, and the fact that he wasn't built for this spy, action hero crap that Jim seemed to fall into as naturally as breathing. 

Jim wouldn't let him hear the end of it, McCoy thought, as the possibilities as to his new companion began to run through his mind. His luck, he thought dryly, it wouldn't just be a patient out of bed. He scoffed at the idea of his life being so ordinary. Jim, the brat, had made sure that those days were now far behind him. 

He had finally made up his mind to turn and confront the lurker head on, only to tense as two long muscular arms suddenly wrapped around him, causing him to jerk forward and away from the body closing in behind him. He stepped forward, attempting to regain enough space to maneuver, before turning slightly and raising an arm to knock one of the encasing arms briskly away. 

His attempt was quickly halted as the man behind him took an abrupt step forward, anchoring him against the stone ledge. His raised arm was quickly captured in a firm grip, and pressed firmly down back into its previous position against the ledge. A masculine chuckle had McCoy tensing further as the breaths ruffled his hair. The anger and affront that he felt at the complete intrusion, was quickly overtaken by alarm and a deep sense of unease. 

A patient out of bed, his ass, he thought. 

McCoy attempted to twist out of the tight hold, only to have his other hand captured and confined as quickly as the first.

"Hush." Marcus whispered, voice humorous and mocking. Like a spider enjoying how the fly struggled so pitifully in its web.

McCoy stilled, before jerking his wrists pointedly in the tight grasp. Glancing down, he watched as the hands slowly bracketing his own melted away. The near caress made him shiver, as the hands slowly receded to rest besides his own clutching the rough stone, bracketing him in against the stone ledge.

"Marcus." He finally uttered, wanting to get the whole confrontation over with.

The soft chuckle that came from behind him had his features settling into a careful crafted mask of neutrality. He wasn't willing to give the man the satisfaction of seeing him any more rattled than he already was. The melodramatic bastard got off on it too much.

The poorly concealed flinch of surprise that crossed McCoy's features, as a soft breath was exhaled across the nape of his neck, brought a smirk to Marcus' face. Another small chuckle escaped him. The doctor was oh, so fun to play with.

Reaching his limit, McCoy stiffened and made to jerk around, before a soft tisking sound behind him had him hesitating, hands clenching into fists where they rested on the railing. If this was anyone else, he seethed, he would have decked the bastard by now, there'd be a goddamn fist imprinted on his face, but this man…well, he couldn't afford the luxury, no matter how much it galled him.

"What trouble you have caused me." Marcus finally breathed out on a sigh, the doctor's efforts at stoicism beginning to bore him, especially when he knew how deliciously the doctor could behave when riled.

He idly eyed the doctor's still form, taking in and enjoying the doctor's imposed stillness, the implied submission. He pressed his face minutely closer, inhaling the varied scents the doctor exuded, enjoying the mix of man, fear, and barely controlled ire.

As the shorter man's hands fisted further, the knuckles going white in the near darkness, Marcus smirked, eyes darkening in anticipation.

"You said two days." McCoy rejoined. He forced his body to relax, his voice to nothing more than merely casual.

"And I know you're smart enough to count." he continued, ready for Marcus to just get to the damn point. He was getting tired of the games within games, not to mention the lack of personal space, as he jabbed an elbow into the man's lower ribs. He enjoyed the forced exhale that followed, less so the additional step forward Marcus took in punishment.

He was a doctor, damn it, not a personal space heater. "Back off!" he growled out.

The false bravado was oh, so satisfying, Marcus thought with a slight quirk of amusement at the slight waver in the doctor's voice. And the doctor looked oh, so delicious when cornered, a clear novice to the maneuvering and manipulation at hand. His eyes took on a possessive glint as they eyed the doctor's tense features.

"Now, doctor," he chided, before deliberately pausing, he eased away slightly, not wanting to push the doctor too far...yet.

He drew a hand soundlessly across the stone ledge, brushing his hand tantalizingly against the doctor's closed fist, fingers dancing over the whitened knuckles. He smiled smugly as the fist shook, but remained in place.

"How could I stay away?" Marcus finally continued, voice dripping with mockery and as sharp as a sword.

Marcus couldn't help the slight frown that crossed his features, as the fist jerked away from his touch, falling to rest at the doctor's side.

"By keeping your word, and staying the hell away. Two days, you said. Two days, yet here you are. What happened to all that mercy, Marcus? Too hard for the likes of you?" McCoy replied, a sneer touching his lips.

"Don't test me." Marcus hissed out, his own hand fisting against the stones. "Don't. Test. Me." Each word was ground out as he took a minute step forward, increasing his attempts to intimidate the doctor by his sheer presence alone.

"Did he touch you?" Marcus asked roughly, the words bite out abruptly, almost against his will.

McCoy's hands slackened momentarily in surprise, taken off guard. "What?"

"Did that fucking Vulcan touch you?" Marcus spit out.

Well, I guess his source isn't as good as I thought, Bones thought, as his mind started in slow circles. He became almost giddy in his relief and exhaustion. Not about Jim then, not yet. 

He openly scoffed, "And what do you care if he did."

"I care just as much about that, dear doctor, as I do about the little excitement you had this afternoon. An interesting development, wouldn't you say? Especially in light of your little experiment." Marcus rejoined, smooth as silk. "The possible side effects should prove…interesting."

McCoy's head whipped around, caught by surprise. He was met by a pair of dark eyes, drilling into his own.

"Didn't think I knew about that, did you?" Marcus continued quietly, raising an eyebrow derisively at the doctor's poorly contained look of surprise.

"You would be shocked, doctor, at what I am aware of…and of what I am capable of." Marcus commented idly, his words dripping with layers of meaning.

His hands momentarily betrayed his outwardly calm demeanor, clutching the ledge tightly for a moment, grounding the palms of his hands into the rough stone. Marcus let the words hang in the air, the rough pull of skin and the pressure of the stone grounding him, calming him. The faint shiver his words provoked was oh, so satisfying.

"They are calling for him, Doctor, as you well know" he said, the 'him' not needing to be spelled out. "and not for another miraculous advancement up the Starfleet ladder." He sneered at the mere thought.

At the mention of Jim, McCoy stilled. A weakness, Marcus thought, and such an obvious one to have…and one so easily exploited.

Noting that he had the doctor's full attention, he gimly continued, "Many are starting to reconsider the usefulness of James Tiberious Kirk, and his place in this latest scandal."

Marcus' mouth twisted, "One of many that he has been involved in since his inception at Starfleet. Many are beginning to question not only his usefulness, but his place in Starfleet, even in the federation itself. He is rapidly becoming more trouble than he is worth."

"Jim Kirk has done more for this federation than all of us out together, including you." McCoy spit out, "He saved the whole damn planet in case you've forgotten, and he exposed that bastard for the lying traitor that he was. He's done more for the federation than most of the Admirals and politicians currently trying to hang him out to dry."

"Has he? Or is that what he would have you believe? Jim Kirk has been the cause or at the epicenter of almost every major disaster over the last two years. It's time to pay the price for all that infamy. After all," Marcus smirked, "fame can be such a doubled edged sword."

"And what does that mean?" McCoy demanded, turning in Marcus' arms to face him fully.

"It means, dear doctor, that more are calling for his head than expected, more than even I had anticipated." He smiled grimly, "And I had anticipated a great deal."

"Which you orchestrated." McCoy muttered under his breath.

Marcus continued, unabated, "The damage he has caused, not only to the city and to Starfleet, but to the Federation in these politically charged times…" Marcus paused to shake his head, for the first time taking his eyes off the doctor to gaze out into the dark.

"One would think he would have learned to keep a lower profile, especially after his recent demotion, but I guess he is simply incapable of thinking through the consequences of his own actions."

He turned his gaze back to the doctor, he leaned and turned, locking eyes with the shorter man. "A pity, really, that mentality of his. Sometimes, my dear doctor, there is such a thing as a no win scenario."

Marcus paused, searching the doctor's features for a moment, a small flash of pity flowing over his features so quickly that McCoy quickly dismissed it as a trick of the light. Marcus looked away, before slowly turning back to the doctor's now pale features.

"And your 'hero'," Marcus drawled out, "almost single handedly brought it about through his own actions. And he will face the consequences." He smiled grimly. "There is no pretty bit of code that can save him this time."

"Ironic, don't you think?" He lifted a sardonic eyebrow, enjoying the flush of temper his words had brought to the doctor's cheeks. He pushed back from the stone railing, finally giving the doctor room to turn and face him fully. 

"They can't take the Enterprise away again. It's not a damn yo-yo!" McCoy growled, taking a step forward, invading Marcus' space in turn, hands gesturing wildly. "Just because he is the youngest Captain in Starfleet history, doesn't mean you can treat him like a toddler, taking away his toys every time he does something you might not find altogether agreeable."

McCoy paused, drawing in a deep breath, "We need him in that chair. We need him period, and if you can't see that, than you and the Admirals are all a bunch of damn fools." McCoy finally broke, tearing his gaze from the man in front of him, fuming silently.

Marcus chuckled humorlessly.

"It's not the Enterprise that Jim Kirk needs to be worried about."


	9. On the Balcony: Part 2

### On the Balcony: Part 2

###  Chapter 9 

_"They can't take the Enterprise away again. It's not a damn yo-yo!" McCoy growled, taking a step forward, invading Marcus' space in turn, hands gesturing wildly. "Just because he is the youngest Captain in Starfleet history, doesn't mean you can treat him like a toddler, taking away his toys every time he does something you might not find altogether agreeable."_

 _McCoy paused, drawing in a deep breath, "We need him in that chair. We need him period, and if you can't see that, than you and the Admirals are all a bunch of damn fools." McCoy finally broke, tearing his gaze from the man in front of him, fuming silently._

 _

Marcus chuckled humorlessly. 

"It's not the Enterprise that Jim Kirk needs to be worried about." 

_

"What was it that your pet Vulcan said again, hmm?" Marcus murmured softly. He took a small step forward, "Oh, yes…The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few." 

Marcus smiled grimly, "How _fitting_." 

McCoy's mind raced, thoughts, impressions, feelings making their way through his mind at a dizzying pace. He turned away, walking back to the railing and bracing himself against the wall, hating to give Marcus ground, but needing the space. 

Needing the time to think for once, instead of just reacting like a damn fresh behind the ears first year cadet. How closely were they being watched? How much were they compromised? Who couldn't keep their damn mouth shut? 

At the thought that it had to be one of Jim's trusted few, his crew, his _family_ , that was feeding _this_ man information, his heart began to ache before turning cold. 

He wouldn't let this be the end. He didn't have the knack of pulling crazy no-win scenario defying plans out of his ass, and he wasn't a walking computer, but he was a goddamn genius in his own right. It was time that he, and they, be reminded of that fact. 

He began to think, his mind finally clicking into gear, emotions fading away to become inconsequential things, the cut left to bleed in order to handle the gaping wound pouring dark lifeblood out onto the ground. 

He went to that place, that barren, but so clear place where decisions were made in the blink of an eye and consequences were far away things. To that place that let him get through his father's illness, Jocelyn, through _his_ death, through it all without blowing his brains out with his Daddy's antique hunting rifle or taking the cowards way out with a conveniently misplaced pre-filled hypodermic. 

He might only be a doctor, but he had more than one card up his sleeve. He just needed to buy some more time, more than two days worth. Two days wasn't going to get him very far, not with the way Jim was progressing. He was a doctor, not a miracle worker. 

"And what about you, Marcus? Don't tell me you came all the way here to gloat." He chuckled lowly. "Although, that sounds about right for you." 

"Gloat? Hardly." Marcus drawled out, feet scrapping against stone as he shifted, body held in place with military precision. 

"Than what is it, Marcus? You know I'm not one for games. I'm too damn old for them." McCoy shifted his weight, waiting for the catch. There always was one with Marcus. 

"Not a game, doctor…a negotiation." 

A derisive snort was his reply. "With you, what's the difference?" McCoy asked in disgust. 

Marcus closed the remaining space between them, pushing his body flush against the doctor's. He inhaled sharply as the doctor pushed back against him in surprise. 

Marcus roughly latched onto the doctor's forearms, shoving them flush against the stone ledge before he could raise them in defense, locking them in place. He pushed forward, leaning his head solidly against the doctor's, caging him in from head to toe. He quickly transferred the doctor's captured forearms to one strong hand, shackling them in one strong grip. 

As the doctor began to struggle in earnest, Marcus caught his chin in a calloused palm, roughly turning it to the side. 

"Look!" Marcus demanded sharply, patience seemingly gone. 

McCoy froze as his eyes took in the man sized shape in what he knew to be Jim's room. 

With the dose he had given Jim, he shouldn't have been able to wake, let alone meander around his room and stand up long enough to star-gaze. Which meant that someone else was in Jim's room, And Jim was in there…defenseless, because McCoy had left him alone, alone and vulnerable. 

"Marcus!" McCoy harshly choked out, trying to shake the taller man off. 

"That is the difference, Doctor!" Marcus spit out. "A negotiation has consequences, a negotiation has _leverage_." He snarled. 

"How many times do I have to remind you! Do. Not. _Test_. Me!" Marcus continued savagely, his grip on the doctor's chin tightening painfully. 

"Let me go!" growled McCoy, "Have you lost your ever loving mind?" He began to struggle in earnest, fighting to get free, as Marcus held him almost effortlessly in place. 

He jerked as the hand that had captured his chin, tangled roughly in his hair, forcing his head down onto the stone despite his protests. Marcus' grip was resolute; it was if he was being held down by a couple of steel bands, completely at Marcus' mercy. 

Marcus enjoyed the way the shorter man struggled against him. The man's loss of control and pathetic sense of desperation allowing him to regain his own prized self control. The doctor was going to be a challenge. Marcus smirked, he had underestimated his own reaction to the doctor and his _fire_. It wouldn't happen again. 

"Nothing has been done…yet. Calm yourself." Marcus calmly replied, effortlessly holding the doctor in place, tightening his hold just to watch the doctor stiffen even further. 

As the smaller man stilled, Marcus tangled his fingers even further in the doctor's hair, using it as leverage to pull the doctor up and firmly against his front, a parody of a lover's embrace. 

"I would urge you to listen to my proposal, doctor. After all, we wouldn't want anything to happen to the dear Captain." Marcus smirked slightly, his face momentarily obscured in the doctor's hair. He inhaled deeply, leisurely, enjoying the shiver it elicited. 

McCoy stiffened as the curtains in Jim's room swooshed shut, going rigid as Marcus' lightly rubbed his cheek against his, a mimicry of intimacy and tenderness. 

"Are you listening _now_?" Marcus purred out, threateningly. 

McCoy closed his eyes tightly. 

The small nod he received had Marcus' teeth flashing in the light. He turned his head, tightening his grip possessively, making sure to keep the doctor firmly in place. He placed a glancing kiss on the doctor's forehead, enjoying the shudder it caused. 

"Good boy." He smiled smugly, resting his head against the doctor's, staring out into the dark, head filling with plans within plans. "Good boy."


End file.
